The Sunday herald., 1887-01-16
AN ORDER FOR A plcruRn.
o good painter, tell me true,


Has your hand the cunning 10 draw
Shapes Of things that You never saw
Ay2 Well, here is an order for you.
Woods and cornnelds, ailttle brown,-
The picture must not be over-brIght,-
Yetall In the golden and gracious light
OF q cloud, when the summer sun Is down.
Away and Away, night and morn,
Woods upon woods, with nelds Of corn
Lying between them, not quite sere,
And not In the full, thick, leafy bloom,
when the wind can hardly find breathlnq-room
Under their tassels, cattle near,
Biting shorter the short green grass,
And hedge OF sumnch and sassafras,
with MISUNDERSTANDING ali around.--
(Ah, good painter, you can't paint soundO--
These, and the house where was born,
Low and little, and black and OLD,
with children, many as It can hold,
All at the windows, open widc,-
Heads and shoulders clear outside,
And fair young faces all ablush:
Perhaps you may have seen, some day,
Roses crowdnR the sef.same way,
out OF wllding, wayside bush.
Listen closer. When you have done
with woods and cornneids and grazing herds,
A lady, the loveliest ever the sun
Looked down upon, you must paint for me:
Oh, II only could make you see
The clear blue eyes, the tender smile,
The sovereign sweetness, the gentle grace,
The woman's soul, and the angels face
That are beamlng on me all the while,
need not speak these foolish words;
Ye, one word tells you all would say
she is my mother: you will ogree
That all the rest may be thrown away.
Two little urchins ather kneo
You must paint, sir: one like me-
The other with n clearer brow,
And the light Of his adventurous eyes
Flashing with boldest enterprise:
At ten years old he went to sea-
God knowcth II he be living now
lie sailed In the good ship "Commodore,"-
Nobody ever crossed her track
To bring us news, and she never came back.
An, tis twenty long years and more
Since that old ship went out Of the bay
with my great. hearted brother on her deck:
watched him TIL he shrank to a speck,
And his face was toward me all the way.
Bright his hair was, golden brown,
The time we stood at our mothers knee:
That beauteous head, II 1t did 20 down,
Carried sunshine into the sea!
Out iu the fields one summer night
We were together, half afraid
OF the corn.leaves' rustling, and Of the shade
OF the high hills, stretching so still and far
Loitering till after the low little light
OF the candle shone through the open door,
And over the hay. stacks pointed top,
All of q tremble and ready to drop,
The first half-hour, the great yellow star,
That we, with staring, ignorant eyes,
Had often and often watched to see
Propped and held In Its place In the skies
BY the fork Of a tall red mulberry tree,
Which close In the edge Of our nax-neld grew
Dead at the top,-just one branch full
| OF leaves, notched round, and lined with wool,
| From which It tenderly shook the dew
over our heads, when we came to play
In its handbreadth Of shadow, day after day.
Afraid to 60 home, Sir; for one Of US bore
nest full OF speckled and thinshelled eggs,
The other, bird, held fast by the legs,
Not SO big as a straw Of wheat:
| The berries we gave her she wouldn't eat,
But cried and cried, till we.held her bill,
SO slim and shining, to keep her still.
| AT last we stood at our mothers knee.
Do you think, Sir, H. you try,
| You can paint the look Of q lie7
you can, pray have the grace
To put 1t solely in the face
| or the urchln that Is likest me:
Think twas solely mine, indeed:
But that's no matter,-paint 1t SO;
The eyes Of our mother-(sake good heed)--
Looking not on the nest, full Of eggs,
Nor the luttering bird, held 80 fast by the legs,
But straight through our faces down to our lies,
And, oh, with such injured, reproachful surprise
felt nv heart bleed where that glance went,
though
A sharp blade struck through 1t.
You, Sir, know
That you on the canvas are to repeat
Things that arc fairest, things most sweet
Woods and cornfeds and mulberry-tree,-
The mother,-the lads, with their bird, at her kne
But, oh, that look OF reproachful woe!
High as the heavens your name III shout,
II you paint me the picture, and leave that out.
ALICE CARY